Multifaceted
by Shaded Mazoku
Summary: FFVI - Written for a theme community on LJ. Various facets of Kefka Palazzo, because nothing ever only has one side.
1. Twisted

**Title:** Twisted.  
**Author: **Shaded Mazoku.  
**Fandom: **Final Fantasy VI.  
**Subject:** Kefka Palazzo.  
**Theme/Challenge:** #9: Fire; Blaze.  
**Rating:** PG.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine at all. They're Squeenix'. I just borrow them.

The first time he ever used magic, he very nearly put himself on fire, staring so intently at flames flickering in his hands that he forgot that he wore long, floofy sleeves that day. He hadn't even noticed, so deeply fascinated. In the end, it had taken Leo shaking his shoulders to stop him from putting something, or himself, on fire.

He'd had a deep fascination with all sorts of fire since. There was a fancy lamp on his desk, made from metal and glass, both twisted into an intricate shape, and it was fuelled by oil, as most lamps were. It hadn't always been as twisted, not at all, but he had found it lying around in the ruins of what had been a house before he'd made it burn, flames blazing from his hands. The unusual shape had caught his eye, and he'd made one of the soldiers bring it back to Vector for him. Metal got far too hot to touch when left in fire, after all. It wouldn't do if he burned his hands when he needed them to write reports. Far better to let others burn. And he'd really wanted that lamp. It fascinated him how fire could twist something into only somewhat resembling the original.

That lamp, having since been made functional again by the best craftsman in Vector, and the glass restored to a wonderful green hue, was always burning, one side left open to bare the flame to the eyes of anyone seeing it. Of course, the only one seeing it was him, sitting alone in his quarters, staring into the flame in the lamp and the one burning in his hands. He couldn't stop playing with fire, even if he had wanted to. He didn't. Why should he?

So he spent his evenings staring into flames, the flickering of the fire reflected on too pale skin, and in too pale eyes. He had no interest in the foolish gossiping of the court, and though Leo could be good company, he always tried making him "better", as if he was sick, or wrong somehow, and he disliked that. Far better to stay there, staring into the fire and daydreaming about the screams of those hurt by the flames. Pretty colours and prettier sounds, making him feel alive in a way nothing else ever had.


	2. Gilded

**Title:** Gilded.  
**Author:** Shaded Mazoku.  
**Fandom: **Final Fantasy VI.  
**Subject: **Kefka Palazzo.  
**Theme/Challenge: **#22: Gil; Wealth.  
**Rating: **PG.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine at all. They're Squeenix'. I just borrow them.

It would probably come as a surprise to most people that Kefka cares very little about money. After all, he will gleefully spend money on the strangest things. Rich and heavy fabrics, jewel-encrusted hair decorations with delicate gold filigree and large fluffy feathers, fancy sets of jewellery he wears all mixed up, with gold hoops in one ear, draping ruby drops in the other, and rings that rarely matches either of them. Kefka is a master of impulse shopping, and his quarters reflect this. There are whole shelves full of random objects and gadgets. One shelf is filled with dolls in all imaginable shapes and sizes. Kefka usually leaves Terra standing next to that shelf when he's not dragging her along like a child with his favourite toy, only occasionally remembering to provide her a chair. If Kefka realises the irony of this, he doesn't show it, just smiles to himself and piles Terra's hair on top of her head, fastening it with hairpins in four different sizes and designs, tangling shiny trinkets into her hair.

Despite his spending habits, though, Kefka is not very concerned with wealth and value. For a long while, he wore a thin gold wire with shards of mirror fastened to it in his hair, the edges of the shards carefully filed down to avoid causing injury. He misses that particular decoration. It was lost during an assassin's attack and Kefka still smiles when he remembers the fate of that assassin. Chained to a wall and used as target practice for Kefka's Bio spell, kept alive for three days by potions only, until Kefka got bored and let him die. The assassin wore a stud in his ear shaped like a snake. The stud is in Kefka's quarters somewhere, but he has long forgotten where. Not that he cares anymore, new and interesting things have already caught his eyes. He is an incredibly capricious man.

The truth is that Kefka is, by nature, a bit of a packrat, or maybe rather a magpie, collecting everything that catches his fancy. Of course, nobody will ever say that anywhere he can hear them, unless they're suicidal, stupid or both. It doesn't make it any less true. A box on a table, which is a work of art itself, covered in carvings and gold leaf, holds several pieces of jewellery each worth more than an average Imperial Soldier's yearly income, but the same box also holds pretty marbles, pieces of glass found on the shore and rounded by the waves, tinsel, four slim needles and a handful of edible and shiny cake decoration. The dolls on the shelf vary from a princess doll in a fluffy and shiny confection of a dress that sparkle in the light when it's moves and that has perfect jewellery in scale, to a small handmade wooden one that is painted with red and gold painting and has a string of something shiny braided into it's hair. There is even one doll carved from the bones of a very large monster and covered in dust from shiny minerals and nothing else. The doll is almost as large as Kefka himself and has empty eye sockets that stare into the air aimlessly. It looks rather scary and that is why Kefka likes it so much.

The amount of gold matters little to Kefka, but he loves the colour of it. It just happens to be necessary to have gold to be able to afford it, which makes him laugh when he thinks about it. The Palazzo family is an old one, and money is one thing they have always had. Of course, there isn't really a Palazzo family anymore, not after that unfortunate fire a few years back, leaving Kefka the only living member. Kefka truly does like his fire. It's so very useful, though nobody seems to realise it. So money matters little to Kefka. Yes, it enables him to keep buying his trinkets, but he doubts anyone would refuse to let him have what he wants anyway.

Kefka is a small man, and far too slender, almost delicate, in build to fit the image of what a man should look like. His eyes are larger than usual for a man, with long lashes, and they look even larger due to his eye colour. He has high cheekbones, full lips even without the paint, and long, slender fingers, with long and well-kept nails. He can probably pass for female, should he try, though not a conventionally beautiful one. No, Kefka is in no way physically imposing. Nearly everyone around him is taller than he is, even Terra. Despite this, though, he is the most feared man in the Empire. There are only a few people who dare to speak up against him, notably the Emperor himself and General Leo. Everyone else fears him, fears his temper and his insanity. The servants duck out of sight at the smallest glimpse of his fanciful outfits, the soldiers whisper behind his back but whimper like the cowards they are when Kefka turns his too-pale eyes on them.

He couldn't have bought that kind of delightful fear with money. Yet another reason why money mean little to him. He knows what it is he wants and money can't buy him those things. Money is good for buying silly trinkets and pretty things, but not for true desires. Of course, money does have its advantages. On a desk in a corner in Kefka's quarters, there's a beautiful little sculpture made in the likeness of the legendary Goddesses. The sculpture is made from cheap, but heavy metal, which is crumbling away from the inside. To keep the rottenness from showing, the sculpture has been gilded, covered in gold until its flaws are hidden. Nobody can see that it's falling apart from the inside.

Some people might suggest that it is what both the Empire and Kefka himself does to hide their faults. Wealth is very useful like that.


	3. Double Edged

Title: Double-Edged

Fandom: Final Fantasy VI

Character: Kefka Palazzo

Theme(s): #24: Weapon

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: The setting and characters are property of Square Enix. I'm merely playing in their sandbox.

Note: Having writer's block sucks.

There were two main training grounds in Vector, one for the army and a smaller one for the officers. There were also a smaller one only accessible to the highest ranking officers, the three generals. Leo generally used the public training grounds, as he enjoyed working with his troops, but that day, there had just been too many people there, practicing for the South Figaro invasion. More people in there and people would start hitting each other with their swords.

So Leo had opted to take advantage of his rank for once, and gone to the generals' training ground. They were great training grounds; Leo just wasn't quite comfortable with the idea of exclusive rights. Besides, he enjoyed having a sparring partner, and he was very rarely at the training grounds at the same time as Celes. They were both too busy to take breaks whenever they wanted.

However, to Leo's surprise, the training ground wasn't deserted like it usually was. It wasn't that Leo had forgotten about the last general; it was pretty impossible to forget about someone as eccentric as Kefka Palazzo, it was just that the man generally focused on his magic abilities only, not bothering with weapons.

It didn't mean he couldn't use one, though. Kefka wasn't all that strong, but he was very fast and agile, and, as in everything else, highly unpredictable. If he had to wear arms for any reason, Kefka wore a slender flammard, which Leo had seen him use maybe twice. He was perfectly profient with the sword, which was probably made specially for him, he just preferred to let his opponents come closer. That way, they were thinking he couldn't use it, and he could then stab them to death using the stilettos he usually had up his sleeves.

It was those stilettos Kefka was practicing with now, moving automatically through various stances and styles.

Leo carefully closed the door behind him, not wanting to alert Kefka to his presence just yet. The two of them didn't really get along. At all. But he did admire some qualities the other man had; his natural grace included. While much smaller than pretty much everyone else around him, Kefka was perfectly suited for fast and liquid movements. He rarely bothered with armour, and if he did, it was leather, to restrict his movement as little as possible. Kefka had disarmed Leo during a competition back when they were still on fairly friendly terms, once, much to Leo's dismay. Getting beaten by someone who only reached your shoulder wasn't exactly fun.

He had to admit, though, that Kefka was fun to watch while practicing. Not only did he move fluently, but for the sake of movement, he'd opted to wear fairly simple and less glaring clothing than usual, and his long hair had gotten halfway loose from his ponytail, falling around him rather fetchingly. It was odd how much softer Kefka's usually sharp features seemed when his hair was down. Almost enough to make him look pretty, which was probably why he wore it up. Not that Kefka was unattractive; really, he was just not conventionally attractive, either. There was something off about him. But he was decidedly interesting to watch, and not just because of the mastery he was currently exhibiting with his daggers.

Leo was perceptive. It was a necessary quality in his line of work. He spent a lot of time watching people around him, working out strategies on how to deal with them and how to interact. The thing he'd noticed about Kefka that he suspected nobody else quite understood was that the other general had great difficulties focusing on one thing. His mind seemed to go in every possible direction at once, leaving Kefka with a really short attention span that most people seemed to attribute to his general unpleasant personality. Leo strongly suspected Kefka was unable to focus properly.

As such, he wasn't all that surprised when Kefka suddenly stopped moving; tilting his head to one side as though listening to something only he could hear. He quite possibly was. Seemingly without noticing, he reached up and yanked at his ponytail, trying to get it loose so he could tie it back up properly. He only half succeeded, ending up looking somewhat like a drenched dandelion.

"Amusing you, am I?" Kefka asked, his voice tinged with annoyance. Not that it wasn't usually tinged with annoyance.

The unbidden smile that had crept onto Leo's face at Kefka's rather undignified struggle with his hair disappeared. "How did you know I was here?" He'd been careful not to make any sounds that could alert the other man to his presence.

Kefka turned towards him, one of his patented demented grins on his face. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He tossed his stilettos carelessly to the floor, without even watching. They made a loud clinking sound as they hit the stone patio.

Leo eyed the daggers. Kefka's stilettos were expensive, custom made weapons, with real rubies set into the pommels, and yet he treated them as though they were no more worth than the cheap practice daggers the newest army recruits started out with. It was hard to tell if it was arrogance or just Kefka being Kefka. The other general had an excellent brain. He just didn't use it in the same way normal people did.

Ignoring his weapons entirely, Kefka seemed more interesting in his hair than anything, having finally gotten the ribbon out of his hair. As a result, he now looked less like a dandelion and more like a mop. Leo was reminded again why he kept his hair short. Kefka didn't seem that bothered by it, though, combing through it with his claw-like nails before braiding it loosely back. His hair ribbon was sparkly purple with glittery gold specks. A typical Kefka item, whimsical and shiny. But knowing the other man, there was a deeper reason for him using that ribbon. Just probably not a reason anyone else would get.

Once he'd finished fixing his hair, Kefka stretched and headed towards the door. "The training grounds are all yours, Leo," he said, pronouncing his name as strangely as ever. It was another of those quirks of his nobody knew if was real or just affected. Kefka had spoken oddly as long as Leo had known him. He spoke in a fairly high-pitched voice, his tone lilting, and he randomly put the stress on the wrong syllable, or elongated a vowel that shouldn't be. When you added his constant fluctuation between various degrees of politeness and familiarity, you had the recipe for a really odd pattern of speech.

"Don't forget your daggers," Leo said, eyeing the weapons in question. They were unusually flamboyant for weapons usually wielded by assassins and similar, but then, these were Kefka's daggers, and while they looked flashy, they were as sharp as any high-quality dagger. Technically, he could just leave them there. Even if anyone but the generals had been allowed in there, nobody was suicidal enough to mess around with anything related to Kefka. Leo wasn't exactly afraid of Kefka, but the man did unsettle him, and often, he didn't feel like doing anything to cause a confrontation. Besides, he knew all too well that Kefka coated his daggers in poison, and he'd rather not risk it.

Kefka turned on his heel, almost fluidly, tilting his head to one side and looking up at Leo. "My weapons…" His voice seemed to flow around the words, trailing into nothingness once they were spoken. The look on his face had Leo fighting back the urge to flinch. It was eerie how Kefka on occasions could seem otherwise rational, but his eyes would gleam with something that hinted at just what was going on in his head. Now was definitely one of those times. Kefka's eyes, a pale grey-blue colour, were wide open, and the pupils retracted, making him look rather like the insane mage he was.

"I don't need any weapons," Kefka said, looking at the discarded daggers. He laughed to himself, as though thinking of something funny, though after a while, his laughter quieted down and he turned, walking out of the room. Before turning around the corner and out of sight, he leaned on the doorframe.

His eyes showed an unsettling amount of clarity as he spoke. "I don't need any weapons. I am one."

Then he was gone.


	4. Chalk it up to Experience

**Title:** Chalk it up to Experience  
**Author/Authoress:** lj user"shadedmazoku"  
**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VI.  
**Subject:** Kefka.

**Theme/Challenge:** #23: Experience.

**Rating: **PG.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine at all. They're Squeenix'. I just borrow them.

**Notes:** Kefka's relationship with Terra fascinates me.

"Not like that, doll," Kefka said, getting up from his chair to untangle Terra's fingers from the mess she'd made out of the fabrics on her lap. She was not a clumsy child, but she was still a child, and her fingers just couldn't keep up with the movements Kefka's fingers did when he tried to show her. Not much could; one could say a lot about the pale general (and they did say a lot about him, too, out of hearing range), but nobody could deny that he was very nimble.

Leo, who was watching the two from another chair, was pretty convinced that Kefka was put strangely together, having seen him do things that would just not work with most people. Then again, most people, the same who speculate about Kefka behind his back, are also saying that the general is non-human. Leo didn't know, nor did he particularly want to. He strongly suspected that the best way of dealing with Kefka was by being able to not try to know everything about him. For some reason, he'd taken to spending time willingly in Kefka's company. Maybe it was that he was worried about Terra, because the general had no idea how to care for a child. Or maybe it was the fact that Kefka's chambers were the most comfortable area in the entire castle. Or perhaps it was just the fact that unlike pretty much everyone else, Leo was allowed to spend time with him.

On the floor, Kefka was showing Terra how to stitch together the pieces of fabric he'd given her using some form of stitches that made a sort of chain. Leo didn't know much about sewing, but it was the same sort of stitches Kefka had used to sew together Leo's cloak back shortly after their first meeting. Leo had been partially transfixed by the movement of his long, slender fingers at the time, and partially horrified by the very idea of making such a fool of himself in front of a noble. Of course, Kefka really didn't care about such things at all, as should be expected of a man who ran around in jester's outfits and wore bright face-paint.

Leo supposed the scene on the floor might have been seen as being almost fatherly from Kefka's side, carefully teaching the child a new skill, but Leo knew Kefka better than most people. Kefka's feelings for Terra were not very fatherly. They were certainly not the rather perverted feelings some soldiers seemed to think they were when they thought nobody heard them. As far as Leo knew, Kefka didn't have much interest in sex as anything but a tool to gain power, and he already had power over Terra. Besides, Kefka might be more than a little sick, but Terra was only eight. He wasn't that bad.

No, Kefka saw Terra as some sort of living doll more than anything; an exotic pet whom he delighted in teaching new tricks so he could show her off.

Terra looked up at Kefka from her seat on the floor, paying all the attention an eight-year-old could muster to watching his fingers go through the motions, before painstakingly replicating the same motions on her own pieces of fabric. Despite her shorter, stubbier fingers, she managed reasonably well, and Kefka clapped his hands together in delight.

"Well done, doll!" He stroked her hair, his fingers combing neatly through her oddly-coloured hair. "You're such a good girl!"

Leo bit his lip not to say anything that'd cause Kefka to throw a fit. He'd talk to him when Terra wasn't around; Kefka's tantrums frightened her terribly. Not that he blamed her; Kefka's tantrums frightened Leo, too. Just not quite as much as he frightened him when he was being calm and showing off the ruthless brilliance that had earned him the role as the Emperor's right hand man.

Kefka looked up from Terra to look at Leo, tilting his head to the side. "Don't you think she's a good girl, Leo?" He asked, the tone in his voice saying that he knew exactly how Leo felt about the whole thing.

Leo wouldn't be surprised if he did. Kefka was surprisingly insightful despite, or maybe because, of his distorted world-view.

He smiled, though it was probably somewhat weary. "She's a very clever young _girl_, yes," he agreed, pressing the fact that she was a girl, not a pet.

Grinning widely, Kefka turned his attention back to Terra, showing her another type of stitching.

In his chair, Leo turned his own attention back to his paperwork. He might have friends, if you could call his relationship with Kefka friendship, in high and mighty places, but he was still a captain and had a lot of reports to file. It was just more convenient doing the reports in Kefka's rooms, because as noisy and distracting as the general could be, he was nowhere near the noise-level of Leo's unit. Even if he did have them beat by far when it came to creepiness level.

Leo was often asked how he could put up with Kefka's extreme personality.

He chalked it up to experience.


	5. Feathery Memories

**Title: **Feathery Memories  
**Author:** **shadedmazoku**  
**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VI.  
**Subject:** Kefka.  
**Theme: **#18: Chocobo; Feathers.  
**Rating: **PG.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine at all. They're Squeenix'. I just borrow them.

The red one was a Ciripus tail feather; long, soft and graceful. It came from a bird that had greatly annoyed him on one of the trips to secure Espers, and which had met a grisly death once Kefka had realised just how well feathers burned. His aim with spells was still a little off, but he didn't really see anything bad about it, as he got rid of the annoying bird, and the soldier standing nearby was just a little singed around the edges, and should really stop complaining before Kefka used him to practice his aim.

There was a green feather in the mix, a beautiful one that seemed to almost, but just almost, float slightly on its own accord. It was a Harpy feather, and Kefka strongly suspected it still had a bit of innate magic to it. Whenever he wore it, it twined around his ponytail on its own, and he liked how it looked. Whenever he had Terra help him place the feathers in her hair, it'd curl around her wrist almost forcefully. It appeared to react to magic energy, much like the vicious animal it was taken from. Running his hand slowly along the length of the feather, feeling it move slightly, Kefka wondered if he could talk Gesthal into letting him have a flock of Harpies as pets.

The next of the feathers was yellow, and coarser than the other two. It was a Chocobo feather, and Kefka had pulled it from the bird himself. He'd been slightly more annoyed at Leo than he usually was, and had been trying to see if he could make the bird throw his fellow general, but the shrieking sound the bird had made as he had dug his nails into the skin around the feather and pulled it out had been very satisfying.

From a Sprinter that had been caught and brought in to be experimented on, there was a blue feather. It was softer than the Chocobo, but stiffer than the others, and he actually had quite a few of these feathers, though the rest had been made into quills. It didn't keep him from using them to keep his hair up.

Feathers pleased him. The soft feel against his skin, the vibrant colours, and the way they looked in his hair made him smile. The look on the soldiers' faces when he sent them on missions to secure feathers from various monsters made him smile even more, though.


	6. Elementary

**Title: **Elementary  
**Author:** **shadedmazoku**  
**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VI.  
**Subject:** Kefka.  
**Theme: **#16: Crystals; Elements.  
**Rating: **PG.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine at all. They're Squeenix'. I just borrow them.

Celes, stern and chilly, is ice, freezing soldiers in their steps when she passes them in the hallways. She is beautiful and dangerous, and though coveted, she can't be held. She strikes with the force of a blizzard, and guards her secrets like a glacier. Her appearance is cold and barren, devoid of anything whimsical or unneeded. She leaves a trace on the people she touches, like the frost spreading rime where it passes. In many ways, she is as unmovable as the never-melting snow on the Narshe mountains, though in some, she is as easily destroyed as the delicate ferns on a window a cold winter morning. Like the ice, she may melt, but once the time is right, she'll reform, often even stronger.

Leo is a cliff of nobility and decency in a sea of corruption, a rock that even a endless flow of vices has managed to erode. He is solid and stable, slow to change and slow to anger. Like a mountain, he provides shelter. Like stone, he is hard and determined. Though the landscape around him changes, he remains a steady block of stone, proudly standing there to show his beliefs. But on occasion, like a mountain, something crumbles, causing a rock slide of emotions and insecurities. However, before long, moss has covered the fallen rocks, and though slightly different, Leo still stands strong.

Terra is a breath of wind, a gentle breeze flowing across the landscape. She is meek and subdued like a gust of air, floating by noticed, but without leaving more of a trace than soft ripples in the water. Like the wind, she is often not even noticed, invisible unless you know what to look for. Like the puff of breath forming a cloud on a winter day, she seems so intangible she's about to disappear at any moment, drifting away through outstretched fingers. And like the wind, at times, she can gather enormous strength in little time, and devastate the area around her almost effortlessly. When she protects someone she loves, she is a storm, a hurricane. Like the storm, her anger blows over quickly, turning to a fresh breeze on a summer day.

Kefka, though, is fire, and while the other three share traits of the elements, Kefka is his element. Like fire, he can be the flame atop a candle at one minute, and a ravaging inferno of a forest fire the next, destroying all in his way. He is ever flickering and changing, and he moves quickly. He burns with such heat that even rocks melt for him, and blazes with a flame of pure insanity, frightening and uncontrollable in its intensity. Where he moves forth, he leaves ash and destruction in his wake, barren ground where even hope has difficulties finding ground to grow.

And where the others can see the metaphors and agree, Kefka lives his element to an extent that none of the other three do. His skin is feverish to the touch, his eyes lit with a intense fire. There's a reddish cast to his hair, as though reflecting flickering flames that nobody else sees. Of all the magic at his command, no other comes as easily to him as fire, bursting into life in his hands without any effort. Like a bushfire, he can devastate large areas in amazingly short time, and like a bushfire, he has no room for regrets. Nothing burns as quickly for Kefka as bridges behind him, and nothing snaps as fast under the heat as the bonds to other people.

Like his element, Kefka is fickle, deadly, and hard to tame. Like his element, he can't be close to someone without causing them pain and damage, thus sentencing himself to live his life on a distance from everyone else, since they can't live within the heat he generates. Nothing but destruction and ash can. Unpredictable and vicious, there is no room for the inferno that is Kefka in anyone's worlds but his own wastelands.

Celes is cold, but she knows how to thaw, even if it takes time. Leo is hard and unmoving, but he knows how to open up, even if it leaves him unprotected. Terra is fleeting, but she knows how to let herself become tangible, even if she might get caught that way.

Kefka, though, doesn't know how to cool down, how to stop blazing for long enough to let himself feel. And the other three thank the Goddesses that they are not in his place, because they know that eventually, he'll burn himself apart.


	7. Above the World

**Title:** Above the World  
**Author:** Shaded Mazoku  
**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VI.  
**Subject:** Kefka.  
**Theme: **#17: Cid; Airship.  
**Rating: **PG.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine at all. They're Squeenix'. I just borrow them.

The Empire had several airships at their disposal. Unlike the independently owned airships, they were not particularly fast or sleek. They were large and somewhat bulky, built to carry troops or cargo rather than to race the skies. They had smaller units, but those were flown by a single person, used for aerial battles. The larger ships were not meant for battle.

They were slow. To keep them stable, they were no faster than an ordinary ship, and they required a large crew to pilot. All in all, they were hardly the most convenient of transportations. Chocobos were faster, wagons were easier to handle. The best thing that could be said was that, apart from having ample cargo space, they were very solid.

They were, however, without a doubt Kefka's favourite way to travel. He'd never been too fond of travel by sea, and he rather detested chocobos. Magitek armour was a lot of fun, and had the added effect of being potentially lethal. But for crossing the sea, nothing beat airships.

It was a rather leisurely way to travel, no cramped compartments or endless sloshing from side to side. Several decks and ample space to stretch out or entertain oneself during the journey. Provided, of course, that you weren't prone to airsickness. Kefka never got sick, anyway, so he hardly had any trouble. Why should he get sick? Sickness was beneath him. Of course, standing on the deck of an airship slowly gliding through the air, the world itself was beneath him. He loved the appropriateness of that.

As so many others, Kefka had dreamt of flying when he was a child. Unlike most others, Kefka was convinced that some day, he would fly by his own power only. Someday, he'd soar the skies unaided. On that day, he'd no longer need the Empire. They'd be obsolete.

But for now, he was content standing the uttermost front of the airship, the wind whipping both his hair and cloak up to flow around him in the wind. For now, it would be sufficient to know he was above the world, both metaphorically and literally.

The world would come to realize it soon enough.


	8. Tempest

**Title:** Tempest.  
**Author:** Shaded Mazoku  
**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VI.  
**Subject:** Kefka.  
**Theme:** #11) Bolt; Lightning; Thunder.  
**Rating:** PG.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine at all. They're Squeenix'. I just borrow them.

"Don't be scared!" The older of the two boys said, watching his younger brother huddle under his cloak by the window. "A nobleman should never be  
scared."

His voice almost didn't falter as he spoke.

Sourly, the younger one thought his brother had to be concentrating hard to avoid faltering.

"I'm not scared!" He returned, his voice holding almost as much of a sting as the lightening outside.

He was not scared. He was fascinated.

As the two watched, the night sky lit up, followed almost instantly by a loud rumble, the ground seeming to shake.

The older boy jumped, but tried to hide it. He couldn't show weakness in front of his brother.

The younger boy jumped, pressing pale hands to the cold window. He felt almost elated.

To an casual viewer, the two boys would seem as different as night and day. The older one was maybe sixteen, more a young man than a boy, tall and  
strong, yet somehow diminished by the lightening storm. The smaller was maybe ten; a small, long-fingered boy whose blue eyes shone with  
fascination as they reflected the lightening strikes.

Their parents came into the darkened room, wondering what their sons were doing. He was a tall, stern looking man, the older boy's features clearly  
derived from his. She was smaller, leading a young girl by the hand, but her blonde hair and blue eyes were the same as the younger boy.

"What are you doing?" The father asked, looking at the older boy.

The dark-haired youth turned to his father, frantically hiding his relief. "Nothing, father." He said, turning away from the windows, and the  
storm. "I was just thinking about asking you to play a game of Conqueror with me."

The father offered a proud smile, the sort of smile that said "he is part of me", and led the older boy away.

"What are you doing?" The mother asked, brushing her daughter's hair from her face as she spoke.

The pale boy didn't look to his mother, pressing against the window. "I'm trying to remember where I left my boots," he said, his voice distant.

Another lightening lit the sky. "I want to go outside."

The mother shook her head. She did not understand her son. Promising her daughter a bedtime story, she led the girl away.

The boy didn't really notice his mother leaving.

After a while, he slipped out through the terrace door, his hunts for his boots forgotten. Standing out there, in the lightening storm, with his  
feet bare on the soaked granite and the rain falling on his face, he felt more alive than he could remember ever having felt before.

An old man hurried by, dragged by a pair of fine hounds on a leash. The boy could barely hear him say something about "that crazy Palazzo boy" over  
the sound of the storm.

He stifled a sudden and unbidden urge to laugh.

Hours later, curled up in bed with a cup of tea, his feet still feeling the chill from the rain-covered granite, he could still see the lightening  
when he closed his eyes. It amazed him. His father thought he had power, but it was nothing like the display of raw power that had occurred  
earlier.

One day, he would find a way to leash that power. The very idea sent chills down his spine in the best way possible. He would have true power, his  
father's flimsy games be damned. The power of words, and of old, useless titles, were nothing.

The smile on his face as he fell asleep, too wide and too manic, would have frightened anyone seeing it.


End file.
